The colour of the sea
by ClairDeLaLune253
Summary: When she's washed up on an unknown beach, Cyan has to do some serious thinking. And fast. Set shortly after TLO before HOO, TLH.  Please reveiw. Good things are always nice, but if you can tell me where I've gone wrong I'd aprecciate it.
1. Washed up

-**A few minutes ago-**

She awoke on a beach. The warm waves gently washing over her, then retracting to join the rest of the calm aqua sea, over and over again. But for someone who had just been washed up on an unknown beach, after being tugged out to sea whilst on holiday with her mum (She had no dad, the swine ran away before she was even born – although her mum always tried to convince her he was a good guy.), she felt strangely... revitalised? Also very, very comfy! In fact, she was so comfy she started to drift off into a (hopefully, she thought) dreamless sleep. But her sleep was never dreamless.

And then the sane part of her brain kick-started again.

She was on a beach; she couldn't sleep in a public place! She was surprised at how uncharacteristic she was being! So instead she started thinking through everything about herself and her past. You know, just in case she had amnesia or something.

She was 15 years old. 16 in exactly one week and two days, on the 12th of June. She had wanted a new fountain pen with black ink cartridges for her birthday, which her (quite frankly, brilliant) mum had bought her and given to her exactly one week and three days early. This brought her to the subject of mum. Her mum was called Louise Thompson; she was kind-hearted, had a calming presence about her and liked to bake chocolate surprise (She still hadn't figured out the surprise) cookies on Sundays.

Aaah, now she remembered. She was the strange, quiet, self-proclaimed hermit, Cyan (yes that's a real name) Thompson. She was 5ft 9in in height. She had big aqua-coloured eyes, a longish nose, that flicked up a bit at the end covered with a light smattering of freckles, plump rose tinted lips, lightly tanned skin, noir (she thought noir sounded so much blacker than just plain black) hair that naturally fall into ringlets, and a faint pink scar in a slit mark across her throat from when she was attacked on a London bus at the age of 13 by some crazy guy dressed up like an ugly Bull on two legs.

With that over and done with, she resolved to open her eyes. Now that wasn't as easy as it sounded. Because about the only encouragement she had to open her eyes was the fact that she could hear loud voices nearby. A girl shouting "Percy go get Chiron quick! She's alive but she seems to be unconscious!" And then the sound of someone – she assumed Percy – running in soft soled running shoes away from where she was. She inwardly sighed. She knew she should open her eyes or someone might call nine-nine-nine. Ooops! This was America which meant nine-one-one (If she'd been completely awake she would have winked!) Anyway... Ok, she thought, I'll open my eyes on the count of three. One...Two...


	2. Opening up your eyes

**-Now-**

Three! I think to myself as my eyelids force themselves apart, to look straight into a blinding light. I throw myself around onto my front to escape the light rays on my eyes, and thrust my face into the dry sand. Automatically pulling it back up again, so fast I get whiplash in my neck, to spit the sand out of my mouth.

I hear a couple of muffled laughs, about four people from the sound of it. I jump up onto my feet and glare at the five people surrounding me. There are, what seems to be, four teenagers and one adult.

As my eyes grow accustomed to the light I examine each person in turn. The first person on my left is a, may I say so myself, seriously hot boy about my age. With wavy blond 'surfer boy' hair, a tan, and rich blue sparkling eyes. The kind of eyes that fill with laughter and reflect every emotion. The second person in the haphazard circle surrounding me, is another boy, most likely the first boy's older brother, as he's pretty much the spit of boy No.1, but an older version.

The third is another boy, tanned, but this time with dark hair like me and deep sea green eyes. He must have been the source of the light, because he has a torch in his right hand. Boy number three is holding hands with a girl on his left, the only girl in the bunch. The last teen, the girl, is about my age, with pretty curly blond hair, and intelligent stormy grey eyes. These two are most likely the two who found me. What were their names again? Oh yes, Percy and Annabeth.

One of the only things any of the teens (Except No.1 and his brother) have, physically, in common is the fact that they're all built well, and in shape. And their T-shirts. They're orange and have the words: Camp Half-Blood, emblazoned in spiky black letters on the front. It took me a long time, and a whole lot of patience I don't possess, to decipher the words on the orange T-shirts. Due to my dyslexia and ADHD.

Then I reach the last person, the adult, most likely the one person who wasn't laughing at me. As I did with the others I look at him from the top of his head and down. He has a very solemn face, with brown hair and warm brown eyes. Eyes that, seem to have a look about them, like they're filled with the knowledge of countless times gone by. My gaze skips by his bare torso, and I see...?

Memories of what happened out at sea come flying back...

And that's when I begin to scream.

* * *

><p><strong>I PROMISE in the next chapter she'll actually interact with people :) What do we think? Should the next chapter be completely in her POV? Please R&amp;R :)<strong>


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